There’s not much out there,
Causes such a pain
Creating jammed traffic,
The noisy freight train.
It chugs along,
Pulling cars,
Full of materials,
From near and far.
You can never tell,
When it will arrive,
Squeaking its brakes,
While you wait in line.
Can’t take a left,
Or, even right.
Streets are narrow,
Lanes are tight.
So, just sit and wait,
Five miles per hour.
Late for work,
Over us, has power.
There’s just no winning,
About it, nothing good.
High pitched squawks and squeaks,
Like nails on a blackboard.
So, try as I may,
Will search and look,
For a different route,
For my morning commute.